


Crash.

by TwoGurusInDrag



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Violence, Past Relationship(s), Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 14:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10618527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoGurusInDrag/pseuds/TwoGurusInDrag
Summary: Stu, Brian, Yoko. Each discovers a secret- and handles the news very differently. Written for the McLennon Big Bang 2017.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the McLennon Big Bang 2017. Enjoy!

Crash. 

 

**X.X.1961**

**Hamburg**

 

Art (despite what your professors may tell you) is first and foremost about passion. And if one of John’s passions is other men, alright, who am I to judge? 

 

Things are very different here than they are back home. England is austere, quiet- like a rainy Thursday morning in the middle of June. Hamburg is _alive-_ vibrant and bursting with art and sound and fun. It seems as if the rules of life are _relaxed_ here- and that you’re free to enjoy your vices as you please without your next-door neighbor calling the police. (With warmest regards to the old widow, Mrs. A. Huyton of Liverpool 8…) 

 

Surrounded by all of the spinning, and the colors and the neon, I’m inspired to join in. To create- make art, make love- to paint and to explore and to experiment. And, based on what I’ve seen, I can only imagine that the rest of my band is feeling the same. 

 

George has been spending every free moment out on the town- having the time of his life, for a kid of just eighteen. There’s a rumor going round that Pete and Fascher have been cruising the red light district on our nights off, picking up any girl who looks their way. And now that I’ve left the dating pool for good, Paul has firmly positioned himself in the role of the band’s ‘heart-throb.’ 

 

And as for John, well- he’s harder to read than the rest of the band. I suppose that it’s the artist in him. But lately, he’s been giving those looks of his to Paul, and I’m beginning to wonder if there’s some sort of unspoken narrative between them. 

 

Astrid was the one who actually caught me on to the idea. We were having tea at her mother’s, and were talking about the next gig at the Top Ten, when she mentioned something I’d never really considered. 

 

“Why does he keep staring at Paul?” 

 

I frowned and asked her what she meant. 

 

“John- he always looks at him so funny. Why does he do that?” 

 

Funny looks- I had never seen them before, not like how she was describing. I told her that I’d watch for it that night, at our performance, just to see what she meant. 

 

Sure enough, about midway through our third, fourth song of the night-   _ Love Me Tender _ , I look over from my microphone, and John is eyeing Paul with the strangest expression. It was almost like… well, when a groom sees his bride in her wedding dress for the first time. It’s this look of dazed…  _ wonder _ . 

 

We’d all had a couple of beers, and I figured the drinks must be getting to him. But then, couple of songs later, the look was back again. I must have noticed it four, five times through the set. 

 

Once we’d done our songs, me and Pete and John decided to hang round the bar and have a beer before towing the amps backstage. It was late- one or two in the morning, and I wasn’t all that sober myself, so I thought I’d ask John about what I’d seen. 

 

“So why’d y’keep looking at Paul so funny during our songs?” 

 

John placed his beer on the counter, his eyes narrowing into slits. “How d’y mean?” 

 

“You were mooning over him the whole set, mate.”  

 

It was almost as if I’d flipped on a switch. Lennon’s a known fighting drunk, but I’d never found myself at the receiving end of it. But all of a sudden, I heard a  _ crack _ , and next thing I knew, I found myself on the floor of the bar with a kick to the head, and blood streaming out of my nose. 

 

It’s been three, four days now since it’s all happened, and I’ve been lying low- staying with Astrid at hers. Bless her, she’s worried sick about me- her mum is too. I’m alright, really I am. Couple of nasty headaches, but my nose is healing well.  If anything, it gives me time to sketch and think. 

 

I’ve thought about a lot of things these past few days- about home, about art, about the future. And, you know, I’ve come to a couple of decisions. 

 

First, whatever the hell had gotten into John, and whatever he was looking at Paul for- it’s a sleeping beast. So maybe John  **does** like other men. Maybe he even likes Paul. But I’m not interested in getting another kick in the head for pointing it out. 

 

Second, I’m not so sure I want to be a part of the band anymore. Astrid and I have been talking about marriage, and to be honest with you- I’m a piss poor excuse of a bassist. I’m an artist at heart- and I want to go back to school someday soon, get a little flat, settle down. Have a nice life together, you know? 

  
  
  
  


**X.X.1965**

**London**

 

It’s difficult, really. So many people- well, they assume that it’s some sort of  **choice** I’ve made. Well, I can tell you now that if I had any say in the matter whatsoever, I would  _ certainly  _ prefer the female… gender. It’s only the decent thing to do. 

 

In the past, a curious few have inquired about my relationship with the boys.  Certainly, it must seem suspicious- an older avowed homosexual traipsing around with young… well dare I say  _ attractive _ young men. However, my relationship with the Beatles does not go beyond that of any other manager and talent. I book the engagements, manage payroll, and ensure that the boys are ferried to and from their rehearsals without incident. Quite unremarkable, really. 

 

However, I have recently stumbled upon an alarming bit of news. Until yesterday, I had every reason to believe that all four boys were perfectly ordinary when it came to the pursuit of partners. Unfortunately, I have since learned that two of them may be… deviant. 

 

I suppose I should go into it here, to try to make sense out of just what happened yesterday afternoon. Perhaps… perhaps I can think of a solution to the issue. I will, under no circumstances, tell an outsider what I have witnessed. That is out of the question, outright. However, I may… well, it may be helpful for me to speak to John and Paul- to warn them, if anything. 

 

Of course, it’s dangerous to have a written record of anything of this nature- even if only in a journal. (Dizz has taught me the truth of  that matter once and for all…). But I’ll do my best to keep what I know safe and out of the wrong hands. Once… once this matter has come to a close, I’ll simply destroy these pages, and think of it no more. 

 

It was around noon when this all occurred. I knew that I still needed Paul’s signature on a document for our merchandising licensees in time for an afternoon meeting. Since the boys were pencilled in to record, I decided to swing by the studio and gather what I needed. 

 

When I arrived, most of the studio employees were off on lunch. However, I heard voices coming from one of the booths- voices I quickly recognized. 

 

I didn’t make my presence immediately known. After all, if they had been working on a song, I wouldn’t want to crash in and so rudely interrupt. Instead, I approached unobtrusively, and snuck a peek into the studio door’s small glass window. 

 

They were in the middle of something. _ (And it certainly wasn’t a song!)  _

 

What is one even supposed to do when stumbling upon that type of… situation? I couldn’t have hardly  _ knocked _ ! Instead, thinking quickly, I left the scene before I was spotted. The paperwork could wait. I could push the bobblehead vendors off another day or two. 

 

But that image… it hasn’t left my mind since.

 

How long has all of this been going on? Was this the first time? Or have they always been… they couldn’t have always been. 

 

And the young women they pursue- is that an act as well? (The late night wall-banging I have endured at all hours of the night on tour assures me that it is not!) And Julian, little Julian- he’s proof in himself, isn’t he? 

 

Of course, John… John  _ humored  _ me once- years ago. I assumed he was taking pity on an old man. 

 

Perhaps… perhaps I was mistaken of his intention. 

 

Did he find me attractive? 

 

But Paul  **with** John- that was something I had never considered to be even a remote possibility. For God’s sake- they enjoy the company of  **women.**

 

They’re good,  _ normal _ lads!

 

For God’s sake… 

 

What will I do about it? 

What will I do? 

What… 

I’ve… I’ve learned something.

 

I’ve learned a very deep and dark and terrible secret, and I must decide what I am to do with the information I now possess. 

 

The way I see it now, I have two distinct options. 

 

I must either  _ warn  _ John and Paul, or I must look the other way. 

 

My first instinct is to warn them. This sort of lifestyle, it’s not something one ought to take part in lightly. 

 

If one is able to nurture a successful relationship with scores of women, well, why would one even consider attempting to form such a bond? 

 

And there’s the fame to consider as well. The Beatles have a very successful career ahead of them- with years of touring all across the globe. And just what would happen if it came out that exactly one half of the band had been enjoying illicit trysts in the company of  **other men** ? 

 

George and Ringo- I must keep their best interests in mind. After all, should Paul and John be found out, all four lads’ careers would be over! The Beatles would become the laughingstock of the globe, and the careers of two innocent men would be down the drain for something so  _ silly.  _

 

And yet, I suppose, the boys’ unique profession puts them at an advantage that so few of us have. How many of us have the opportunity to travel five and a half months out of the year, in constant close quarters with our… with our  _ lover. _ How many of us can share a hotel room with the same man night after night, traveling across the world, without raising an ounce of suspicion? I have never met another man… another  _ couple _ I suppose, in such a unique arrangement. 

 

I know it is wrong. I know… there are others at stake in this, and that I should think of their welfare before accepting a path of silence. But there are so few of us who have managed to eek out such a position that allows us to perhaps nurture a lasting, real  _ relationship _ . 

 

I don’t think… I really don’t think that I can find it in myself to break this up. I’m  not  a strong person, not when it comes to things like this. But John-- and Paul too, deserves to be happy. And if this brings hi- both of them happiness, I must endeavor to do what I can to ensure that they are given the privacy they need to flourish safely behind closed doors. 

 

What I am choosing to do is wrong. But had I always made the  _ right  _ decisions in my life, well, I would still be working in my father’s record shop. 

 

**X.X.1969**

**London**

 

Every day, I am walking on thin ice. Everything here is fragility. One small move- and  _ crack _ ! you fall onto your face. 

 

I don’t know how he has stood it for so long. 

 

I attend the recording sessions because he asks me to. I calm him down when he is ready to scream, to cry- and he holds me when I am ready to do the same. 

 

His life is one of loneliness. He cannot walk down the street without being followed. He spends his time room to room, and cannot make friends without questioning their motives. I accompany him in his solitude, for two is better than one. 

 

Sometimes, when we are alone, he tells me stories. Stories of his childhood, of great green gardens and rabbit holes. 

 

Other times, the stories are of more recent events. Of being chased down the street, of backstages and bar-rooms. 

 

Tonight he told me a new story. It was not one I expected him to tell. 

 

We were together, in the bath. We had been lying there for a while, and the water was growing cold. 

 

I noticed how unusually small he looked curled up against me. His customary layers of clothing were removed, his wet hair hanging in strings around his face. 

 

He buried his head into my bare chest, and took a deep breath. Then, he began to speak. 

 

“I’ven’t told y’something-” he began. “Somethin’ y’should probably know. Me’an’Paul… we used to be something, a long time ago.” 

 

He paused, unsure. 

 

“Yoko- we used to be  _ together. _ ” 

 

I nodded once, unblinking. 

 

“Y’probably hate me for it. Christ, think of it, we used t’ run around, behind everyone’s back- fer years, alright. And we’d gotten away with it too- that’s the thing of it.” 

 

Another pause. His heart beat against mine. 

 

“Who’dve suspected that one half of the world’s biggest selling band was  **fucking** behind closed doors.” 

 

He clung to my hair, like a young child against his mother’s breast. 

 

“How long?” I replied softly.

 

As he often does, John scrunched his eyes to think. “Must’ve been- we’d have started in ‘61, ‘62. Surprised it took us so long.” He barked out a brief chuckle. 

 

“It was _ good,  _ right _ ,  _ for a long time. We were at the tip-top of the world, you know, no one could drag us down. But the last time- would’ve been a couple years ago, just before I met you. And it all- he was gettin’ married to Jane, and Cyn was gettin’ tired of me,and things were changing so fast. We realized things weren’t like they had been, and then Brian died, and we… well we  **stopped.** ”

 

“We’ve tried t’keep up the band but, Yoko… things aren’t the same. I found you and I  **love** you and I’m beginning to find out that what I want in the world- what I  _ really  _ want, doesn’t line up with Paul and what ‘e wants anymore.” 

 

The words were coming faster now. 

 

“But the band was my dream, you know- the Beatles were  my  idea, somethin’ I’d been wantin’ since I was a kid. But with him, it’s not a dream anymore Yoko, it’s a fucking  _ nightmare.”  _

 

He sighed, opening his eyes to stare up at me. 

 

_ “D’you hate me?”  _

 

I shook my head once, carding a soothing hand through his hair. I did not hate him for his honesty. 

 

We sat there in the silence, the water lightly dripping from the bathtub faucet, as I pondered over his words. 

 

The news explained many things. The sadness John felt- it was not just the breakup of a band he was grieving, but a breakup of a love affair. Paul, the hatred in his eyes when he looks at me, it’s not my actions that anger him, it’s my presence. 

 

He is jealous. 

 

And I understand. 

 

I do not enjoy the treatment, but it does not seem so baseless as it did. It is not me he hates, but what I represent. To him, I represent replacement, artistically and romantically. 

 

But, in the end, the actions I take must be for the sake of John and John alone. Paul has many things in life, but if John does not want him, he must accept it. 

  
And if John does not want me someday, I will accept it too. 


End file.
